


Hugging The Flame

by lady_in_aquamarine



Category: Fright Night (2011), Twilight (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fingering, Married Couple, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22635076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_in_aquamarine/pseuds/lady_in_aquamarine
Summary: It should have been his last night as human, but can easily turn the literally last night.
Relationships: Aro (Twilight)/Peter Vincent, Aro (Twilight)/Peter Vincent/Sulpicia(Twilight)
Kudos: 9





	Hugging The Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Am I capable of writing proper smut? - No. Does it stop me from writing? - Also, no. 
> 
> PS. Let me know if I missed some tags.

His skin was itchy. His heart was in his throat, beating that furiously that it was one step away from jumping out of his body and rushing through the old doors of dark oak. Telling the truth, he was also tantalizingly close to making an attempt to escape. But he couldn't. The doors were open, he wasn't a prisoner, no, a guest of honor, he was able to put aside his glass of whiskey, stand up from this armchair and go wherever he wanted. The problem was in no possibility to return if he would change his mind once again. Owners of the villa that was hiding in the Volterra's suburbs far from the main roads and highways had made it clear. A man that brought him here, over the ocean, and a woman that was lying to his face the whole damn time, the woman that took his heart years ago and then dropped it on the pavement, smashing in billion pieces. Both of them were deceased, undead, not quite alive for more than three thousand years (Peter still had no idea how to describe that state of existence), and they both had a plan of not letting him make it through the night. He really should have stood up and run - as far as he knew it was a good tactic of saving anyone's ass - but he felt like his been glued to the velvet seat upholstery. And instead of fighting for something he wasn't in fact satisfied with, he was watching with his eyes wide open that after-opera evening routine. He was at that play too, but even under torture, Peter couldn't recall either the name of it or the plot. He was glad to affix the blame to his knowledge of Italian, that was consisting of some Adriano Celentano's songs and the phrase that should be said when you're asking for a check; otherwise, his lack of memory was caused by jitters, while he wasn't that young or that prudish to be frightened of having a threesome with a married couple. A couple that been married longer than anyone he knew, that long that the whole western civilization has been born and raised right before their eyes.

It took some time to understand that the pain in knuckles was caused by holding the snifter too tight. Well, maybe he is nervous, but this drink is the only one he is allowed tonight. It's the only one Peter had allowed himself, and he wasn't going to finish it in one gulp.

"You will regret if you blackout such an event," Aro had said to him earlier this evening. And though vampire had greatly underestimated his alcohol-consuming limits or had pretended to do so, Peter eventually followed this silent order and changed his mind about drinking himself unconscious, choosing to stay sober. On the other hand, old habits die hard, so he was sticking to his decision as much as possible, but not to the letter. He took another sip to cover his mouth and avoid meeting the eyes of anyone in the room, but nobody could keep him from looking and memorizing.

Separately both Aro and Sara (Sulpicia, for god's sake, he'd better stop calling her by her old fake name) were acting more than weird, not always fitting in human society with its rules of behavior, being sometimes too old-fashioned, but together they were a perfect duo, and the more Peter was getting to know them as a whole, the more he was feeling like a third wheel. Yet he was here, ready to face his death and to take it from cold but caring hands of monsters that were as polite as to have their discussion of the performance in English. Peter knew that they were usually speaking to each other in a language older than Ancient Greek - the one they were born into. He googled it up, but Wikipedia didn't give him the actual name, just words Mycenaean and Minoan, and he didn't have enough impudence to ask which one it was. But lately, he was doing it a lot - searching for information he had never cared about. Now it became vital for him to know that the color of Burmese rubies Sulpicia was wearing is called pigeon blood. Her lips covered by matte lipstick of the same color were moving, but Peter somehow didn't process the words, too caught by the view of Aro's hand caressing the stem of his glass. There was something filthy in the way his thumb was absentmindedly making ampersand-like patterns over the crystal.

"I said: "Ducat for your thoughts,"" Sulpicia repeated, the forenamed lips forming a bit uneven mischievous smile.

"Just trying to understand what the hell I'm doing here," returning to the reality, Peter sighed, he had no intention of lying, what was the point of it if Aro with a single touch could read him like a book?

"Found any answer?" the woman put her half-empty champagne coupe right on the floor and stood up, smooth cloth of the long evening dress slightly glistering in the warm light coming from the fireplace that was the only source of light. She stretched like one of those big cats - mysteriously graceful and dangerous predators and then, before coming closer, picked up her Margarita once again. Sulpicia was moving like a shadow - without making any sound, though, differently suppressing the speed of her moves.

Peter once asked whether there were any rules that vampires were following in their clothing choices, and the answer he got was no, but from the observations, the man could say that at least all the Volturies have a thing for black color, the color that made them blend with the night, with only pale faces and occasionally hands being visible under the usual capes they were wearing. No wonder that on the contrast low-necked dress Sulpicia put on today was looking more than provocative; porcelain skin was shining over the tight black silk.

Peter was aware that physical appeal was one of those abilities that were helping vampires to catch their prey, but knowing didn't mean having enough strength to fight the spell he was getting under, not when she placed herself on the left armrest of his seat in that way it became almost impossible not to look at the cleavage between her breasts.

"I suppose he did, but he doesn't like that he has found," it was Aro who broke the tense silence. He was sitting there three steps away already without the suit jacket, with his bowtie hanging loosely on his shoulders and the upper half of the shirt unbuttoned. His face was hidden in shadows, but from the whole lounging pose vampire assumed, it was easy to understand that he's enjoying the view.

In a panic, Peter's eyes darted around the room, bouncing between the woman and her husband; as he felt a cold hand touching his cheekbone and slowly sliding to the place right under his chin. Sulpicia's intent for stealing a kiss was obvious, she leaned in, perfectly balancing her weight on a single support point and carefully titled up his head for a better angle.

"The last chance to make us stop," murmured the woman, amused by how mortal's shoulders were getting tighter and tighter with every disappearing inch of room between them, and then she froze. She really did hold _still_ in an uncomfortable pose for at least ten seconds, giving the man an illusion of choice. And when their lips finally touched, it felt like lightning going down the spine. It was a restraint type of kiss, the one you can get from a girl playing Juliet in a school theater, no teeth, no tongues, just a steady sliding of mouth against mouth. But it was so well-practiced with the proper amount of pressure and pace that Peter missed the moment he decided to close his eyes. But right then, when he did so, Sulpicia drew apart from him. Her palm stayed where it was, thumb stroking the freshly shaved cheek in a comforting gesture. But with all her help and the help of ancient gods, Peter couldn't hold back a little mewl forcing its way from burning due to the lack of oxygen lungs.

"Very well, indeed, hasn't it felt like returning to the home port?" Aro purred from his seat, but Peter didn't know the answer, and he didn't think he would ever know. Kissing Sulpicia was right and wrong at the same time because he still didn't forgive her. With his brain - yes, but not with his heart. And no capability of doing so was tearing him apart.

For years he's been wondering what his life would be if he pretended of being happy on little and wasn't that dumb as to propose Sara. When they met for the first time, she set him straight: she's married, her husband is in another city, and all she wants is good sex on the side. So, it's gonna be a one-time thing with him having her up against the wall in the closest to this bar dead end. That conversation happened in New York in January, her lips tasted of peppermint chapstick, tequila, and salt, and it was that freaking chilly on the street that he didn't figure out how actually cold her body was. Yet they spend three months together before he fucked up.

They had a lot in common. They both were orphans, they both tramped a lot during the teenage years, and both had developed the same sense of humor. The husband hadn't allowed Sara to be a painter finding this job not suitable for a good trophy wife she meant to be, and she was furious about the fact that she can't show her works to anyone right. Peter, that was hardly one of those right people, found Sara's paintings belonging to a modern art museum and not the attic she was renting as a studio.

Somehow, he had built his hopes up impossibly high and expected that much, so, once after mind-blowing sex, he just blurted out: "Leave your husband, marry me." Yes, he was broke, but he wasn't planning to be a children's party magician that occasionally (only at shitty days) steals rich men's wallets till the rest of his life. And then, as he had thought, Sara showed her real face of a material bitch.

"How much?" she asked, and he stared at her like a deer in the headlights. "How much do you want for all that time you wasted with me? I know escort don't take less than a hundred per hour..."

Peter had seen that amount of horror in someone's eyes only triple in his life: when his parents were killed, when Charlie Bruster told him that vampire took Amy, and right between these two: in the black onyx of Sara's, but he didn't recognize it then, being too hurt by the words she was saying. Of course, he didn't take the check that she tried to force into his hands, though fifty thousand dollars were more than his yearly salary.

He didn't make a scene; he didn't start calling her in the middle of the night. Peter did what he's been told - vanished from Sara's life with one but: when seven years later being on a world tour with his show, he saw in a sleazy art gallery in London a triptych with an alchemical sun painted in gold, he bought it. And this artwork saved his life once other vampires came to take vengeance on Jerry's murder. Regine that was planning to kill him recognized the style of Sulpicia's works and decided not to do anything hastily. She made a visit to Volterra, and then Peter got a visit from the vampire royalty. Sometimes he still felt Aro's firm hand choking him in a murderous way by lifting him from the floor.

"Something is evidently missing," said Peter, instead of starting another round of self-digging, those do usually ended up with him not sobering up for weeks, "or maybe even someone."

"Greedy," Aro chuckled, standing up. Unlike his wife, he was not pretending to be the one he is not, and so, in a blink of an eye, he flew closer, eyeing the two of them with a smug smile. Now he was standing in goddammed heated inches, but still too far to be reached without offending the woman.

"Haven't you said that the last wish of condemned to death is a law?" Peter squirmed at his seat, he was yearning he was able to control the lust in his veins, but he never was good at that. Sulpicia rolled her eyes at that clumsy flirting. Well, about Peter, everything was clear: he was a swearing ball of self-destruction since the adolescent. But why Aro stooped to his level?

"What does he want - that is the question," nevertheless, she asked, adopting rules of the game and turned her head to the standing man.

"Would you do me an honor?" Aro extended his hand with the palm up as if he was inviting Peter for some old-school dance, one of those that were fashionable centuries ago and that were left only on the pages of history books, but the meaning of this gesture was utterly different. The vampire was asking for permission to read his mind and to use everything he might find there.

Aro's gift needed skin-to-skin contact, but it couldn't be switched off completely, though the depth of diving in someone's mental world varied. He could dance on the waves of the real-time impression as well as dig out the most wicked thoughts. Peter was not afraid of either of the variants, but he took a deep breath and carefully wiggled out of Sulpicia's arms before he touched Aro's fingers. Deep mind-reading this time felt like a tender kiss to something not absolutely physical, but Aro was not always that careful. The first time Peter got a taste of the vampire's abilities, he has experienced mental vivisection and with a kick-in-the-nuts level of pain of splitting headache afterward. Cascade of associations, falling in a domino effect after that episode popped up in mind, has brought him to the word spitroast less than in a minute.

"I like then you act like a proper gentleman, but let's save this idea till the next time," a puff of air danced across Peter's skin when Aro finally finished his search with the gentle press of his lips to the back of the hand. "After all, it's you we need to get as much worn out as possible."

The strange noise Sulpicia made was classified as choking on the drink she imbibed.

"Oh, dear," whispered woman hoarsely. She coughed once or twice, pressing her wrist against her nose before she busted into a proper laugher. The sound of it made the blood in Peter's veins go cold, as there was nothing sane in it, and then it ran hot with need as Sulpicia scraped her teeth along the outline of his ear when she added: "We are planning to bring you to the point when you wouldn't be able to remember your own name."

His mouth got dry at these words, Peter swallowed sticky saliva, but it didn't help. He knew he's secure here, but still, he stiffened when Aro started to dispense with the remaining buttons of his shirt. The ancient vampire clearly wasn't putting himself on a show patiently undoing them one by one, but the confidence in his moves was intoxicating. He unsnapped his silver cufflinks (they looked old with rough-worked owls and unreadable signs on them, and Peter could bet his soul that they were made of antique tetradrachms or some other coins with a long history in general and of course, a personal story too) and was about to put them in the pocket of his tight-leg trousers when Sulpicia stopped him.

"It's exactly the way we lost my wedding ring in The Plaza," she said, "Give them to me, I'll put them on the mantelshelf."

"For how long are you planning to complain about it? It was in nineteen twelve, and they..." She grabbed Aro by the collar and smashed their lips together, and if with Peter, Sulpicia was careful like with a vase of china, this kiss was dark and carnal. She was biting with a fierceness of a hungry lioness and licking her way into her husband's mouth. And the response she got was ravenous too. Aro's free hand slid up the bare curve of her neck, while the other one got pressed to the armchair's back next to Peter's head for support. And Peter, in his turn, wasn't going to let them leave him behind. A soft huff escaped the vampire's mouth when he felt a hot hand trailing down his chest, followed by wet nudges of peppering kisses.

"Found it," howbeit Aro managed to finish his sentence, pulling back from the kiss, his voice tinged with something other than anger. He smoothed down his hair with one harsh move, and then he realized that cufflinks were gone. There was confusion in his eyes for a moment, but before he started to panic, the woman opened her hand.

"Our young thief, " she smiled, standing up and making her way to the fireplace: "has told me a couple of tricks."

Peter would gladly rebel against this word used to describe him, but it was the truth. There wasn't a big difference between pickpocketing and most of the card tricks, and he was a thief, then he showed Sulpicia how this thing is done.

"So," for an instant, Peter felt really uncomfortable for being the only one sitting and tried to apply the upright posture, but Aro prevented him from doing so with just his eyes. And that turning-one-specific-mortal-into-charcoal stare was followed by the vampire kneeling between the spread legs.

"I want you to stop me when you are about to have an orgasm," he said, undoing the belt first, then the fly. Aro grabbed the trousers by the cuffs and pulled them down to the ankles. A similar fate soon befell the underwear. The only thing Peter could do was lift himself up for making this undressing easier and hold back a moan when air touched his skin.

Hand to the hips, Aro slipped his palm under the hem of the shirt, dragging the remaining clothes out of the way. He was slightly gliding the fingertips across the bare skin under the navel, the brush of them cold and cruel enough to ignore the throbbing with need cock.

Peter averted his eyes for two reasons. The first one was that he was looking for mysteriously disappeared Sulpicia, only to find her returned to her armchair. Their eyes locked, and she nodded.

"I'd like to watch first if you don't mind," he read on her face.

The second was more selfish and self-apologetic, as Aro on his knees was a scorching hot picture. To his own surprise, Peter was already half-hard from the kissing (like a teenager with no self-control, to be honest), and there was a hummer of heartbeat in his ears. He needed to calm down in any way, preferably, without thinking about gore things; otherwise, he was to disgrace himself. But it was easy said than done.

"Is it clear?" meanwhile, vampire asked, simultaneously sliding fingers along the shaft.

"Yes," Peter hissed at the grip, his muscles jerked and quivered, but he managed neither to arch up in seeking the sensation nor to pull away, though merest touch to his heated skin now seared like inferno's icy fire. And after a long moment of deliberate gazing at the ceiling (didn't help to control the gasps at all), he braced himself to look down.

The sight of the dark-haired head by the crotch made Peter's heart skip a beat or even two. How was it possible, that such satanic and such dangerous creature was capable of poignant tenderness? But he was. Aro had slim and graceful fingers of a musician, but nobody could get the tongue around to call them feminine. These fingers were enough to drive lovers mad by hard squeezing and gentle skimming - Peter knew that. He was one of those select few. Moves of the Aro's hand - up and down - were in so impossibly slow rhythm, it was unclear: whether the pale bastard was marveling the body beneath him, because he had all the time in the universe, or just teasing.

Peter never was too proud to keep silent. It wasn't hard to get him to beg for mercy. But when he was halfway to saying something close to a plea, Aro decided to lean in, darting out his tongue to lick a beard of musky liquid on the tip of the head. He smacked his lips, tilted his head, and then Peter lost the focus again, this time unintentionally, as his head dropped back, and he groaned. Loudly, much louder than usual at this point. With his eyes shut, he couldn't see Sulpicia, but he was feeling her gaze every second, and her presence in the room doubled the thrill, as well as knowing that it is _her_ husband sucking him off.

Peter ran his hand through the black satin of Aro's hair, brushing it from the face, but without an aim to control the rhythm. He neither pounded his hips up, though it took a lot of effort.

Aro wasn't bothering himself with deepthroating, proving that it's better to focus on quality rather than quantity. He was circling his tongue around the crown, using his hand to cover the length that wasn't in his wet and cold mouth and occasionally without any orderliness, sliding it down a bit further or releasing the cock with a loud pop.

Nevertheless, it didn't take long before that familiar elusive pre-orgasm sensation started to dance in Peter's body.

"Aro," he tried to warn, but the vampire didn't slow down.

"Aro, please!"

No effect.

"Just fucking stop," turning the words into one, Peter rattled off, and Aro did not just make a pause, but he firmly pinched the tip of the cock he was blowing. Surprisingly, it did help that much, that Peter could hypochondriacally feel his almost released cum returning back into his balls - something he for sure couldn't and shouldn't. His skin was burning with need, his sweat-damped shirt glued to his torso, and it was only the beginning. Catching his breath as much as it was possible in this agony, Peter ran his hand over his face and forced his eyes open.

"You two gonna be the death of me," he whispered, not capable of speaking in full volume and shivering from Aro's smile addressed to him. The vampire sat lazily on the carpet with no intention of standing up.

"Isn't it the main purpose?" Sulpicia was fanning herself, she didn't look flushed, as some human might, but her pupils were dilated, not with the dark, but with desire, and she was sitting cross-legged, in the way a lady is never allowed. 

"May I suggest moving to the bedroom?" she said, closing her painted with a peacock pattern fan with a loud click. "These armchairs remember Buonaparte."

To Peter's relief, she didn't elaborate whether they were that old or Napoleon once (or not once) was sitting in one of them. The way Aro or Sulpicia was casually mentioning people from history books like some uncle Jake or cousin Lizzy, was fascinating and frightening at the same time. Creatures of the night - they were indeed silent gods, able to play with humanity like with dolls, but noble enough not to do this, being content with a very little tribute of hearts of century. Kicking off his dress shoes and getting off his wrinkled trousers for being able to walk, Peter tried not to think of himself in this way, but he probably shouldn't have read all those books out of boredom, especially that one in sand shade cover.

Aro didn't inquire which bedroom his wife was talking about, he simply dragged them to the closest that turn out to be his, as soon as the glasses with all the melted ice were finished. The room was flooded with purple-shade moonlight coming from the windows. The door swung shut behind their backs with a loud bang, and the vampire reached round to fumble the switch.

"Light?" he asked.

"Off, there is enough," mumbled Peter, Sulpicia didn't say anything, as she preferred to focus on getting Aro out his clothes. Already unbuttoned shirt fell on the floor, and she trailed down her mouth along his neck - very much in a sort of prelude to a bite. But it was all Sulpicia did before she turned her head to Peter that was watching them entranced and not daring to interrupt.

"I'm not very good with zippers," she drew her shoulder blades together, giving a hint of where the slider was hidden. It was an evident lie, but at least now there was work for idle hands, and Peter obligingly pulled the zipper down. The dress slowly slipped over her hips, dropping to feet in a big black oily puddle, but still, the woman was severely overdressed. Sulpicia inclined towards him, her head back, lips brushed the jawline.

"I knew that you're not a going-commando type of person, but this is a fucking fortress," Peter's hand followed up the puffy seam of the corset with baleen bone inserted in and lingered on the floating ribs.

"Earthen dike, at most," Aro that got rid of his remaining clothes circled them, his hand on the other side of the woman's waist, and stood behind the man. "Sulpicia through ages grew lazy at lacing. I remember those times when she was tightening herself to seventeen inches."

"Seventeen?" asked Peter in shock, he tried to touch Aro's fingertips, estimating how much was the current circumference. It was at least twenty-two, and the woman's figure already looked like an hourglass. "I don't think it's possible."

"It just doesn't look acceptable anymore. And it's not the size that matters," it was easy for Sulpicia to speak like this - her spouse was skilled, like Aphrodite's illegitimate child, that now put his chin on Peter's shoulder. She shifted her weight and took a small step back, pressing closer and, though, Peter has calmed down enough, and his cock softened, arousal kicked him again when he got sandwiched between two bodies.

"Maybe, you can show him?" suggested Aro, his chest so close, that Peter could feel the vibration of every vowel coming out.

"I can't self-lace that tight, but with some help, why not?"

Aro's hand left the waist and moved to the narrow ribbon, holding the parts of the corset together.

"Just a small tip on how her body works, because I don't think you'll find it out if the fashion stays the same. If you tighten her enough and then bend over something, she almost passes out when she climaxes."

"Hey!" exclaimed Sulpicia, "Don't steal from him all the pleasant discoveries."

"If you wish so, my lady," Aro loured and drew his attention back to Peter, "I think you can start with untying the bow. The first rule on corset-lacing is that you never tie the ribbon or rope in a knot. If something happens, there should be a possibility to put corset off fast. Mostly it's about breathing, so doesn't apply to vampires, but the devil is in the details."

Peter did as he's been told. With such instructions, the corset stopped to look like a big problem. The much bigger problem was the sensation of another man's hard cock every now and then brushing against the inner side of his left thigh, and Aro's vicious voice. It was mild and soft, and velvet, and... Peter found himself lack of adjectives, as his brain was too busy fighting with the desire so he could get the meaning of the said words.

"This one is the most primitive and easy to be done technique," Aro continued his lecture, his fingers touched Peter's, and somehow it felt more intimate that what he did with his mouth fifteen minutes ago, "Simple crosses of ribbon thread through the eyelets up and down in succession, with one minor improvement for easy lacing you're now holding. If you pull the upper parts of the loops, the corset will tighten in the hip part. If the lower ones - the breast part will get smaller. Now try."

Peter twisted the ribbon around his palms and pulled. But he didn't manage to drag out even an inch of it because Sulpicia moaned.

"Oh, shit! Did I hurt you?" Peter dropped the loops free and rushed to check whether the ribs got cracked. Everything seemed fine, but he wasn't a doctor.

"He said pull. Not yank!" the woman snarled.

"I'm sorry," Peter shortly kissed the nape of her neck in apology.

"Don't worry, I'm fine, but be more careful."

"Now breathe out," he fisted the ribbon again, hoping that he understood the difference, "I'll try again."

Slowly and not without Aro's help, Peter managed to close the gap of the corset, but he felt really deceived as the waist was nineteenth inches at least. On the other hand, Sulpicia was right: even now far from the extreme, she started to look like some alien or a caricature, and, for sure, seventeen wouldn't look sexy for him. With Aro's acquiescence, he traced the formed curve of her body. Sulpicia twitched when Peter sneaked in under the band of the lacy panties, palming her, and dipped his middle finger between her labia, but didn't make a sound. Instead of this, she bit her lip and reached back with one hand to grip Peter's hair.

"She's fucking soaked," he gasped, as she lost control of her strength for a second and tugged too hard, wanting him to do something finally.

"You were given all the instructions," said Aro against his ear, and though, Peter couldn't see his face, he knew that vampire had one of his gratified smiles touching his lips. Aro lied rarely, and he wouldn't suggest anything that he didn't want. It wasn't hard to put one and one together, and now Peter was warming to the idea of checking whether he was told the truth or an exaggeration, but still, he was hesitating, while he was leading Sulpicia to the bed and positioning her on hands and knees at the edge of it. She looked vulnerable, easy to break in the narrowest place, like a twig, her chest was rising and falling at a fast pace, as she couldn't breathe in with the full lungs. He traced the line of her spine, searching for any signs of faded stellar constellations of birthmarks on her skin. There wasn't any.

"You can't break me, you know? " Sulpicia looked back at him over her shoulder, the expression on her face was challenging and almost angry. Hardly it was his moves that made her understand his doubts, but her words gave him back the missing confidence, "Even Aro couldn't and, god knows, he tried."

Of course, Aro tried and not once. Peter shook his head in confusion. That son of a bitch they both had the bad luck to fall into had a habit of ruining everything and everything around him not unintentionally, cause he wanted the best for himself, he wanted an equal. Nobody knew for sure how many of the broken souls of now dead and rotten into none humans Aro left behind before Sulpicia fight him back with the despair of someone who had nothing left to lose than her own life. Full conscious and full pain - this was how she became a vampire; for some of the people, it took less to go insane - so a round of rough sex couldn't make her shatter.

Peter frowned, he could do it: he could grab her hair and make her scream his name until her voice would blow out, but he would prefer taking it slow. Thoughtfulness was a sexually transmitted disease he has gotten from Aro. Peter put his hand between her shoulder blades and pushed until Sulpicia bent her elbows. He pulled her underwear down to her knees and, ignoring the woman's frustrated sigh, gave short kisses to both cheeks of her ass.

Mattress bent under Aro's weight when he sat on the bed next to them and then leaned back. His cock was now stiff and leaving a wet smear of precome on the stomach. Out of the corner of the eye, Peter saw how Aro stroked it a couple of times to release the tension before he solicitously offered Sulpicia a pillow that was accepted. But her answer was mixed with a hiss because it was the moment Peter decided to push two fingers inside her. 

"Do not feign virginity," he ran his other hand along the outer side of her thigh in a soothing gesture. Above the elastic of the stockings, the woman's skin was cold as marble but soft and delicate, and Peter gave himself enough time to enjoy it before he seized her hip to prevent any moves. "You have a full Niagara here."

"Incandescent and cheeky," Sulpicia parried, but it was the last thing she could say without a moan, as Peter slid his thumb against the clit and started to move it in slow spirals in synch with the middle and index working inside. It took a little time for her moaning to turn into shrieking as she became mindless. She closed her eyes, letting her body take her where it wanted to go - down the spiral that twisted tighter and tighter but bringing the woman to edge that way was too simple.

Peter could feel how her inner muscles clenched in a try to hold the withdrawing fingers where they were a moment before, it was no wonder, that Sulpicia almost groaned at the sudden loss. But he relinquished her just for a moment it took to grip the cock and position it at her entrance. A heavy sigh that passed Peter's lips, when he thrust into the cool silkiness, was drowned out by the whine coming from Sulpicia. Peter eased out and then back in, then did it again. It was torture to keep the tortoise-like speed, but a sweet one.

Apparently, Peter's body remembered more from his twenties than he thought, and despite he changed, Sulpicia didn't. She still was eager, a bit too vocal, and she wasn't embraced to ask what and how she wanted.

"Harder," she yelped between the thrusts, and Peter was glad to obey her demand, locking his eyes with Aro, that was watching them like some porn, gaining his pleasure from this simple act.

The vampire didn't say anything, he was just laying, propping himself on the right elbow, but there was no need for explaining. Peter already knew the rules, though they were not spoken out loud today. He was not allowed to cum before they tell him otherwise. It was part of that grand plan for today's night.

Not being able to handle the glare for long, Peter bent and nuzzled Sulpicia's hair. His breath was dancing on her skin, lips playing against her neck with every move. She still smelled of ashes and some rancid oil. It was the scent of soap-less centuries that fused into. Peter knew she was close, he could sense it from the way she tensed around him every time he bottomed her up and started to hold her breath, still, her orgasm took him by surprise.

Sulpicia came with a broken cry, subdued by the pillow she buried her face in and a spasm that shook her whole body. Peter held her by the waist, not letting her collapse on the bed, before waves going through her finished. And when they did, he made sure she won't fall off the edge. For a long while, Sulpicia wasn't showing signs of life, laying like she was left. Her legs were visibly trembling, and she was so overwhelmed that she couldn't kick Peter and stop him from unlacing the corset, exposing the dented marks it left on the skin of her back.

"Oh, Athena," she helplessly moaned when he followed with his lips and tongue every each of them in a soothing gesture. Her hand raised in the air and then fell with a loud bump, so Aro had to close the distance between their fingers himself.

"She's fine," he said when Peter planked down to the free space on the bed between him and his wife. "Give her a while."

"And you?" Peter was breathing with his mouth wide open, gasping like a fish out of water. He was so close to an orgasm of his own that he almost explode, but now it kissed him goodbyes.

"I'm happy with the way I am. For now," was the reply. Peter traced the line of Aro's jaw with his hand and kissed the tip of his nose. For some unknown reason, this made the vampire giggle, and as Peter wasn't thinking about anything funny (telling the truth, he wasn't thinking about anything), he assumed that the laugher was caused by some thoughts in Sulpicia's head. So, he couldn't help but grin. They stayed in the surprisingly comfortable silence for a minute or two, listening to the sound of each other's breath. But then a shade of doubt passed over Aro's face, and some worry lines appeared on his brow.

"Сan't remember if I put the screen on the fireplace," Aro sit up and wafted his hand toward the door. " I'll check."

"Seriously?" Sulpicia could barely lift her head, swimming in the afterglow, but she tried.

"London. Sixteen sixty-sixth."

If Peter wanted to take the woman's side, he immediately decided not to.

"Fine. I'm convinced."

"Don't wait for me," still fully naked Aro gave out short kisses to them and, not letting himself get distracted, left the bedroom.

"Shouldn't he at least put something on?" eyeing the tapioca ceiling, asked Peter when the door closed behind the vampire's back.

"The guard has seen worse."

The shoes Sulpicia was wearing, carelessly dropped down to the wooden floor. But she neatly put both pieces of her underwear on the ottoman, standing at the end of the bed before she started to pull the pins out.

The updo wasn't complicated, but with a mid-thigh length of hair, even a simple bun in the style of Cleo de Merode appeared stunning, even when it was slowly turning into a waterfall of black hair. Peter watched as the long tresses fell down around her shoulders and the other curves, the picture too fascinating to ignore.

"Do you remember what you said to me a long time ago?" Sulpicia asked with some naughty smirk of someone that has dirty things in mind.

"I never shut the fuck up," Peter shrugged.

"Right before we split up," the woman shook her head, so her hair tumbled down. He bit his lip and nodded. It was hard to understand where this conversation might lead, but for some reason, Peter felt mandatory to sit up. It was a full circle of the time spiral with them ending up in the same place. Almost, as the bed wasn't a mattress on the floor anymore. A little bit older, maybe wiser, but Peter was not sure of that when he took her face in his hands and threaded fingers through the sides of her hair, brushing it back and kissing her forehead. With her hair down and smudged lipstick, she looked like the woman he used to know.

"Yes?" his voice was more of a question, then a statement.

"He would not ever let me go," Sulpicia muttered, "If you still want us, we should kill Aro. Right now, before he finds out that we are up to something."

Peter had no habit of hurting women, but the hand, this time, was moving on its own. He slapped Sulpicia that hard that a flash of pain speared his palm. It was a millennia-long moment of understanding that had just happened, and then Peter found himself pinned to the bed like some set butterfly. Sulpicia was straddling his hips, her fingers dug in his shoulders that the bruises were already forming. Oh, how he dared to forget he was dealing with the monsters from the legends?


End file.
